<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>I'll Be Seeing You by fangirl6202</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788535">I'll Be Seeing You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl6202/pseuds/fangirl6202'>fangirl6202</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - World War II, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Gen, Italian Racetrack Higgins, Jewish David Jacobs, Love Letters, Love at First Sight, M/M, Period Typical Bigotry, Soft Spot Conlon, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins-centric, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:46:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl6202/pseuds/fangirl6202</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spot was sure he was going too quick, but that was all war romances were. Quick.</p><p>Hell, he had just told a man he had spent one incredible night with that he wanted to go home to him when this fucking war was over. It was beyond quick, but he was sure.</p><p> Antonio was the man he was going to spend his life with.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'll Be Seeing You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I did my best with what resources I had on hand, but I do apologize for any historical inaccuracies. </p><p>I'll be providing links throughout the fic if it's a reference to something I took inspiration from just bc so many different things went into this and I want yall to get the full experience!</p><p>However, since this is based in the second World War, I will say that while there isn't any graphic depictions of the war, the liberation of a concentration camp does occur in a flashback. Anti-semitic views are spoken and the conditions of said camp are described, so if this is any way bothers or is a trigger for anyone, you can skip 6 paragraphs after David pulls out his Star of David. Be careful and be safe ❤︎</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sergeant Sean Conlon didn’t know what it was about the man across the poorly lit bar his men had dragged him to that caught his attention. </p><p>Perhaps it was because he was the first non-combatant Sean, or Spot as he was called by his men, had seen in weeks. Perhaps it was the way his face didn’t morph into a look of pain or disgruntlement when a shot of amber liquor made it’s way past his lips. Or maybe it was the way his hair, a bright mop of blond curls, caught the light when he moved, which was often with how he seemed to always be laughing at something his companions at his table said.</p><p>If Spot Conlon was being truly honest with himself, he had noticed all these things about the stranger the moment he’d stepped foot in the bar. And it appeared that he was not the only one; a mere 10 minutes into his stay and one drink already settling, the man’s gaze found his, piercing blue eyes meeting stormy brown ones. </p><p>As the night went along, more and more of his men were helped by the liquid in their glasses and left their table, dancing to the music played by the band on the small stage in the corner, yet Spot stayed glued to his seat. Mainly in order to keep his sights on the man across the bar. (The man’s shirt being undone one button past modesty had nothing to do with the matter, Spot assured himself.)</p><p>By nightfall, Spot’s best friend Jack was up and gone, drunkenly <a href="https://youtu.be/uAaJPWgDTGc?t=95">singing at the piano</a> whilst their friend David played. He watched amused as the two got a majority of the bar to sing along, giving the band a well-needed respite, and when he turned his head back, he found that the man was gone. His disappointment was short lived, however, when a glass of beer was placed in front of him and the subject of his gaze was the one who had placed it there.</p><p>“<em>I hope you forgive my forwardness, Sergeant,” </em>the man had said, with an accent on his lips that Spot immediately found alluring. “ <em>But it is high time we introduce ourselves, don’t you believe? After all, you have been staring at me at night…”</em></p><p>The man pulled out the chair next to him, holding out his hand in the same way a dame of high standing did. “<em>My name is Antonio Higgins, and </em>you <em>are the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. </em>” </p><p>Spot stared at <em>Antonio, </em>the name that he would keep on his lips for weeks to come, for a moment before letting out his own smile.</p><p>“<em>Well I think that title goes to you, dolcezza,” </em>he said, using the one Italian pet-name he knew and pressing a kiss to his hand. Spot had seen many a dame swoon when his friends used similar lines on them, but Antonio took it in a stride with a grin. </p><p>“<em>It’s true what they say about you Americans, then,” </em>Antonio flirted and Spot found himself leaning in slightly to catch his words. “<em>You yanks are the biggest flirts this side of the Atlantic.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Less than a minute later, the glass of beer was ignored in favor of <a href="https://youtu.be/azyDiQbS4xs?t=63">going onto the dance floor</a> when the band took the stage, jazz filling once again the night air.</p><p> </p><p>It was so crowded and everyone was so drunk, no one paid much mind to the soldier and civilian dancing together like fools (though in fair honesty, many of the soldiers were dancing with other civilians or with their male friends) </p><p>When their hands brushed, concealed by the throng of people surrounding them, it was Spot who took a chance and held onto Antonio’s. The grin on the blond’s face grew and he threw his head back to laugh, and Spot could feel himself already falling. He’d do anything to hear his laugh again, and he did, with how horrible of a dancer he was. As good as he was with a gun, he absolutely stumbled through the steps Antonio was attempting to show him, but he was alright with making himself look an utter fool because Antonio was laughing and this was the most fun he’d had in ages. </p><p>It was only a matter of time before the two escaped the bar, ducking through the city, hand in hand and laughing as they stuck to dark alleys and back-roads.</p><p>The kiss they shared when they <em>finally </em>made it to the blond’s apartment tasted of whiskey and promise, and Spot wasted no time in finding Antonio’s hips and lifting him up, the man immediately wrapping his legs around Spot’s waist.</p><p>Their lips didn’t part once as Spot navigated the small flat, thanking God that it seemed every flat in this city had the same layout, finally finding the bedroom and letting himself in. </p><p>The two landed on the admittedly small bed, fingers tugging at clothing, lips attaching themselves to the skin exposed to them. This was far from the first time Spot had made love to another man, but there was something so heavenly in Antonio's form, in his eyes, in his body, in his lips, in his smile, that made Spot want to commit every moment of this night to memory. </p><p>And so he did: the breathless moans he released when Spot's lips roamed the pale skin presented before him, the ramble of Italian words whenever his teeth or tongue found a sensitive place (and if he applied more pressure in said places, that was his secret to keep), the sharp cry when Spot finally entered him, the taste of his lips when they kissed again and again and again. </p><p>It was over quicker than Spot imagined, and he made way to leave, disappointment heavy in his chest.</p><p>Whenever a pretty face went home with Spot, they would disappear as soon as the deed was done, not wanting to dwell on their sins longer than need be. It was simply the way things were for men like them, Spot had come to realize, which is why he was more than surprised when Antonio’s hand landed on his shoulder, gently pushing him back onto the mattress. There was a certain tranquility in those blue eyes that made him feel at peace, and a certain lull in his voice when he said “<em>Stay.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Spot slept soundly for the first time in months, and he would bet a pack of cigarettes it was because of the man in his arms.</p><p> </p><p>He awoke the next morning alone to the sound of a radio playing, the soft sound of jazz filtering in with the sunlight. He quickly got dressed and before he knew it, he was in an obviously loved kitchen, kissing the infuriatingly taller blond against a counter with the smell of coffee lingering in the air. That was new. Spot had never kissed another man outside of sex, but when the blond pulled him in, Spot let himself go and found that he didn’t mind at all.</p><p>“<em>I hope you don’t treat all soldiers this nicely,"</em> Spot breathed out against Antonio’s lips, and the man laughed, hand coming up to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind Spot’s ear before kissing him again. </p><p>Antonio wouldn’t let him leave without serving him breakfast, which was a whirlwind of English and Italian and muffins and eggs and bacon and coffee and jazz and kisses that made Spot’s head spin. </p><p>An hour later, Spot felt hesitant in putting his uniform back on. In doing so, his time with Antonio would come to an end. There was a tinge of sadness in the air as Antonio handed him his hat.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> I…” </em>Spot had started, but found that he didn’t know quite what to say. “ <em>I’ll be seeing you.” </em>He finished lamely and fled the flat before Antonio could even get a word in.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Sgt. Sean Conlon!”</p><p> </p><p>A month after his whirlwind of a night with the blonde Italian who was completely overtaking Spot’s mind, his name called out caused the man in question and everyone around him to stop their excited chatter and stare.</p><p>The mail had arrived, a cause of celebration for them. It came once a week or sometimes every two weeks, but it still caused a ruckus among the men. Spot couldn’t begrudge them their happiness whenever mail came. They heard from wives, sweethearts, mothers, siblings, and anyone who deemed them worthy of their time. </p><p> </p><p>Spot hadn’t received any mail since his deployment. </p><p> </p><p>He thought they simply had the wrong soldier, but no: there was an envelope with his name on it and a small box wrapped in white paper with a red ribbon to tie it up.</p><p>Dumbfounded, he took the mail and nodded his thanks, staring at it like it had the plague. He could feel everyone staring at him, but he pushed that to the back of his mind as he carefully opened it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sgt. Sean Conlon, 194-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Dear Sean,</em>
</p><p><em>     Well, my dear Sergeant, I once again ask you to forgive my forwardness. You left before I could ask if I could write to you or even ask you for your name, and it took my asking the soldiers posted in my city to discover it. Sean. I think it is a fine name and it suits you. A fine name for a fine man. A fine man wouldn’t just up and leave a </em> <em>girl </em> <em>high and dry, so of course I was mad at you when you didn’t come back. That was, until I learned that you were shipped off. I apologize for it and for thinking you abandoned me. </em></p><p>
  <em>     You joked that you hoped I did not treat other soldiers with the kindness I treated you, and I wanted to tell you that I have never met another soldier nor another man like you. Your horrible dancing made me laugh and your flirtations made me swoon and being with you made me smile. These past few weeks have been empty without your presence and I admit my spirits have not been as high. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     During our breakfast, you said that not a single soul wrote to you and it did not sit right with me. What good is a Yank with no correspondence? Take this as my application to be your ‘penpal’ as you Americans call it. They say mail boosts morale with soldiers, so I say this is finally an opportunity to help the war effort!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     (In all seriousness, my dear Sergeant, please write to me when you can. If only to keep my mind at peace.)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     I’ll be seeing you,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     A</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     P.S.: Do you smoke? I sent cigarettes, but if you don’t, give them to some other man. I don’t mind at all. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Spot reread the short letter, memorizing the curving letters of Antonio’s handwriting and laughing at the man’s jab with the goodbye, and didn’t even realize he was smiling until a loud chorus of  “ <em>Oohs! </em>” struck him out of his reverie. He looked up to find every single man staring at him and grinning. <b></b></p><p>“<em> Spotty-boy got’s a sweetheart,” </em>Jack Kelly sing-sung as he came up to try to grab the letter away, and Spot swung at his arm, not bothering to pull his punches. The other men laughed as Jack howled in pain, the grin not quite off his face. <b></b></p><p>“<em>Maybe I’s do,</em>” he grumbled, to which he received a menagerie of whoops and whistles and hollers. <em>“Alright, fuck off</em>!” he yelled, though it didn’t help in the slightest. He couldn’t find it in him to care, though, because Antonio had written to him and wanted to <em>keep </em>writing to him.<b></b></p><p>He tore the paper and smiled upon seeing the cigarette box, not wasting any time in lighting one and placing it between his lips. <b></b></p><p>Spot may have been absolutely mad, but within the smoke he exhaled, he could almost taste Antonio’s lips.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>A Higgins, 194-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Dear A,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Your letter caused quite a scene, that’s for sure! My men acted as if they’d never seen me smile before, hollering and whistling like fools. They mean well and they tell me to thank you for the cigarettes (I do smoke, but I gave some to the boys who haven’t made me mad this week.) They also told me it was a miracle I had found a gal who could stand me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     I’m a bit new to the letter writing process, I don’t get a lot of mail, but I swear to you that I will write to you each and every day if it keeps you from worrying. I’m flattered I mean that much to you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Maybe I’m the one being too forward now, but I won’t lie to you, not a day goes by that I don’t think of your eyes or your smile. Lighting a cigarette only reminds me of you dolcezza. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     I’ll be seeing you,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spot</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     P.S. I’m glad you think Sean is a fine name, because no one here does. The nickname Spot is what I’m stuck with I suppose.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sgt. Sean Conlon, 194-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Dear Spot,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     I’m glad that my letter caused a commotion, I live for dramatic moments as such. But I suppose you already knew that, given that we danced three different songs together. As bad of a dancer you are, you are the best partner I’ve ever had. I’ll even go as far as forgiving the multiple instances in which you stepped on my toes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Life here is fine. The sun is shining overhead, as are the stars, and I’ve already written you an absurd amount of letters I’ve yet to send or won’t send at all given they were written in a half-awake state by candlelight, when one’s soul is most vulnerable and bare. I know! I’ll keep those in a box and give them to you when you come home! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     ...Oh that was too sudden of me wasn’t it? I’m terribly sorry, Sean, I don’t mean to put any pressure on you. For now, I will keep those letters in a box and in my heart, but please feel no obligation in coming to retrieve them.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     I’ll be seeing you,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     A</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>A Higgins, 194-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     Dear A,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     I’d be honored to come home to you darling.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     I’ll be seeing you,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spot. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>One letter turned into three, three turned into ten, and ten turned into hundreds. Spot’s men teased him endlessly about how much he was writing, but he had sworn to Antonio and he wasn’t to break it. </p><p>But soon he realized he couldn’t truly write to him, not in full honesty. Men higher up than him read through everyone’s mail and he was censored beyond belief. Antonio was addressed as simply ‘A’, he had to pretend he was a gal, and Spot couldn’t tell him about what was truly happening. Any information that could help the enemy was immediately blacked out, so he couldn’t tell him about the things he was enduring, the battles he was witnessing, the pain he was suffering.</p><p>So he bought a journal the next time he was in tow-- <em>it’s not a fucking diary, Jack! </em></p><p>And he wrote in it. Mostly letters he wouldn’t be able to send.  After everyone was asleep, before anyone woke up, he wrote by moonlight and thought about what Antonio said in one of his first letters: Writing by candlelight was when one’s soul was most vulnerable and bare. In his journal, he wrote what he truly wanted to say and never addressed Antonio as anything other than his name.</p><p> </p><p>Well, maybe the odd darling or <em>dolcezza </em>, but his point still stood.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>To my Darling Antonio, 194-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh darling, not for the first time I’m glad you’re not out fighting in this war. It’s a living hell and enough to make any man weep. I don’t wanna worry you, but I’m waiting for this nightmare to be over. I’ve seen too many people die. Soldiers, civilians, all of it. Sometimes I wonder why we’re even fighting to begin with. Why is anyone participating in this bloodshed?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I gotta admit it isn’t all bad. We get to go to town when we’re close to one, and the locals are so glad to see us we’re practically thrown a parade. It certainly boosts morale, but never more than when I see you've sent another letter. Your letters are a godsend, and at times I say you are too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Angel seems a better title for you, darling. You are one in my eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Spot was sure he was going too quick, but that was all war romances were. Quick.</p><p>Hell, he had just told a man he had spent one (incredible) night with that he wanted to go home to him when this fucking war was over. It was beyond quick, but he was sure. Antonio was the man he was going to spend his life with: he was going to be a little forward.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Forwardness worked. </p><p>Within 3 months and countless letters, gone were the courtesies and their names. Every letter was addressed to “Darling” or “Dolcezza” or “Spotty” or “Annie” and it was all but said that they were in love. </p><p>The men caught sight of him grinning more, whistling sometimes, and while no one said anything (Spot would’ve soaked them if they had), Spot knew they were noticing how happy he’d become. Christmas came and went, and Spot used some of his money to buy small gifts for his friends. A book for David and colored drawing pencils for Jack and cigarettes for Finch and a little harmonica for Specs and other little trinkets. He bought himself drawing pencils, sending drawings with his letters now because that was all he <em>could </em>send to Antonio. To his Annie. Drawings of landscapes, drawings of animals he saw, drawings of anything that came to his mind. </p><p><em>“I love the drawings you’ve sent me, Spotty” </em>Antonio wrote to him the week after Christmas, and Spot could see in the slightly sloppy handwriting that he had written it at night. “ <em>And I  feel it’s time you knew: I love you as well.”</em></p><p>That letter got a laugh out of him, a watery laugh, and it caught everyone’s attention. He looked up to see everyone staring at him, but he was too happy to care.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> She said she loves me.”</em></p><p> </p><p>The moment the words were out, Jack and David and Specs and Finch and Romeo and Boots were upon him, squeezing him tight as a cheer was emitted throughout every man around. “<em> She loves him! She loves him!” </em>was chanted over and over again, and Spot laughed because as much of a pain his friends were, they were part of what were keeping him going. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>A Higgins, 194-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Darling,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     It goes without saying that I love you too. I think I have since I first saw you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     You’re all I think about at night, and I’m waiting for the day you’ll be in my arms again, dancing and laughing together. I’ve never been happier than I was reading your letter this morning, it was the happiest news we’ve received this week! I hope you don’t mind me letting the news slip, I was just so happy I couldn't help myself from shouting it out. My boys were happy and they send their well-wishes. Jack and Davey say you must be a real peach if you were able to sweeten me up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Think of me whenever you can darling. Think of me when you're playing the radio. When you're cooking breakfast or eating dinner. Think of me and know that I love you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     I’ll be seeing you,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Spot</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>     P.S. I love you</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>And two years passed. Two years in a fucking hell, and in that time Spot wrote enough to become a novelist. He had each of Antonio’s letters safely tucked in his pack, kept together by the red ribbon his first cigarette box came wrapped in. He was just about done with his journal, only a few pages left in his coveted possession and he had already decided he was going to give it to Antonio when he saw him. And now he was being sent off to-- </p><p>“<em> France” </em>He spoke into the phone, smiling softly knowing his love was on the other side. But he looked at the girl manning the wires, knowing she was listening in on him even though he paid her to let a few classified statements slide. He couldn’t be as open as he truly wanted to. “ <em>I’m heading to France so I can’t be getting any letters for a while. I’m sorry, darling, but I’m still going to write every day like I promised. Just might take a while for me to send them.”</em></p><p>He heard Antonio’s sigh, just knew that he was biting his lip in frustration. “<em>Ok. Ok, Spotty. Just stay safe cuore mio. Please. You’s gotta promise me you’s gonna be ok.”</em></p><p><em>“Of course I’ll be safe, sweetheart.” </em>He said. “I<em>’ve been waiting to come home to you for years, baby. I’d never leave my best gal.”</em></p><p>It got a laugh out of Antonio, who thankfully found it amusing whenever Spot referred to him as a dame. “<em>I’d make a truly spectacular gal, Spotty. I look phenomenal in heels.”</em></p><p><em>“I’m sure you do, darling,” </em>Spot laughed, knowing that little image was going to make him a happy man that night. “<em>I love you, Annie. You do best to remember that.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>I always will, Sean. I love you too. I’ll be seeing you.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“I’ll be seeing you.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He sighed once the wire disconnected, but saw how the girl in front of him grinned from ear to ear. “<em>You two must really be in love.”</em></p><p><em>“We are,’ </em>Spot replied, smiling as he grabbed his hat to leave. “<em>We really are.”</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Black. </p><p> </p><p>That was all Spot could see, pitch darkness. He felt the hard earth beneath him, heard the sharp ringing in his ear over the sharper cry of “<em>Get a fucking medic!”  </em>The taste of iron is his mouth was overtaking his senses, and he felt hands grab at him. </p><p> </p><p>Then it was all gone.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The first face Spot when he woke up was Jack’s. It was pale, grim, and in dire need of a shave, but it was still Jack, sitting at the foot of his bed with a sketchbook in hand as Spot usually found him.</p><p>“<em>Spot!” </em>The man cried out, and before Spot could croak out a greeting, his friend was upon him, sketchbook thrown to the floor as he held him tightly as if he planned to never let him go. “ <em>Thank God you’re alive you asshole.”</em></p><p>The words pounded through Spot’s head because he felt, honestly, as if he had been hit by a train, but the words still registered, He vaguely wondered what had happened, and when he asked, Jack grimaced. </p><p>The word ‘grenade’ was the only thing that Spot fully latched onto, and he realized then why his side was aching something fierce. He wouldn’t be surprised if shrapnel had lodged it’s way into him.</p><p><em>“Where are we anyways?” </em>He wondered, looking around the small room he was in. For one, it was an actual <em>room, </em>enclosed by four walls and not a thin curtain that made one conscious of how many dying men were on the other side of it. The noises he heard were not screams of agony, but were of civilians going about their day. </p><p>“<em>You was transferred to Paris last week,” </em>Jack replied, which made Spot groan in frustration. </p><p>Jack must have known what he was thinking because he let out a low chuckle. “<em>Don’t worry, I wrote to Antonio last week. He knows you're safe. S’worried sick though.” </em></p><p>Spot grunted in thanks, leaning back onto his pillow and finding that his eyelids were heavy… maybe he could sleep, just for a couple of hours or…</p><p> </p><p>His eyes shot open. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>What did you say?”</em></p><p> </p><p>Jack looked puzzled at his suddenness, answering. “<em>I wrote to Antonio last week. He knows you're safe... </em>”</p><p>Realizing his mistake, Jack’s eyes widened and he began to back away. “<em>Spot, I--”</em></p><p><em>“Jack, I swear to fucking God--!” </em>He swore, attempting to lunge at the man and nearly succeeded until a sharp pain in his side shot through him, gasping in pain and falling back in a tumble. Jack made way to help him, but a death glare made him think twice. </p><p>A deep look of shame was rooted on Jack’s face, but Spot couldn’t find it in him to care. “<em> You…”  </em>He breathed out, gritting his teeth in pain. “ <em>You have some fucking explaining to do.”</em></p><p>Jack nodded, not meeting Spot’s eyes as he got his bag, reaching into it and pulling out something painstakingly familiar.</p><p> </p><p>Spot’s journal.</p><p> </p><p>When Jack realized he had rendered Spot speechless, out of shock, he began talking. </p><p>“<em>When you got hurt…” </em>He said, voice full of regret. “<em>They said they weren’t going to write home. You ain’t got folks and they don’t care about sweethearts, only wives. But I knew you made a promise to write everyday, so…”</em></p><p>He grimaced, looking down at the journal in his hands. “<em>So I went through your stuff to find the address.”</em></p><p>Spot let out a low cry he hadn’t meant to make. A desperate cry, the kind a man could only make at his lowest. </p><p>It wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to talk about death, it was the one thing they knew they couldn’t outrun. And it wasn’t uncommon for them to have last wishes. Letters to send, rings to give to sweethearts, medals to give to family.</p><p> </p><p>Spot’s only wish was to make sure no one looked through his journal.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Jack,” </em>Spot croaked out, surprised at the emotions clouding his voice. He refused to let the tears in his eyes flow over. “<em>Yo</em><em>u promised--”</em></p><p><em>“I know!” </em>Jack exclaimed, throwing a hand up, pressing it to his hand and taking in a deep breath to calm himself. “<em>I know I did, Spot.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Spot wondered just how much Jack had read of it. How many of his private thoughts had been picked through and ogled at. The thought killed him.</p><p> </p><p>Jack looked the guiltiest Spot had ever seen him as he said, “<em>I know I shouldn’t have, but I’m glad I did. Spot. If I hadn’t found that journal, if I hadn't hidden it… </em>’</p><p>It was left unspoken, because both knew what happened to men like him. </p><p>“<em>Jack you can’t tell anyone about this,” </em>Spot said, the words spilling out in a frantic tone. “<em>I don’t care what happens to me, but if people found out about Antonio--” </em> His sentence broke off into a sob. “<em>I love him, Jack, I can’t let anything happen to him.”</em></p><p>The second the words were out of his mouth, Jack came forward and this time Spot let him. Spot couldn’t remember the last time he had been hugged, and he couldn’t fight his emotions any longer. Sobs racked through his body, hiding his face in Jack’s shoulder as he cried for the first time in years.</p><p>“<em>I</em><em> won’t let that happen, Sean,” </em>Jack swore. “<em>Nothing is going to happen to either of you.” </em>Jack hadn’t called him Sean since basics.</p><p>He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, nor did Spot know when he fell asleep, but it was almost dark out when his eyes opened again if the harshness of the lightbulb was anything to go off of.. Jack was once again the first face he saw, but this time, he wasn’t sketching, He was holding something in his hands, a photograph.</p><p>“<em>There’s something you should know, Spot.” </em>He said when he saw Spot was awake. “<em>You, uh, you know my gal Corliss?” </em></p><p>Jack and his gal had been going steady since before the war. During basics, it grated on him a bit to hear Jack go on and on about her blonde hair and beautiful green eyes and her dazzling smile, but over the years it comforted him to know Jack had someone waiting for him. The two were absolute dopes in love, sending letters almost as often as him and Antonio, and Corliss would often send chocolates and books for the both of them.</p><p>A bit confused, Spot nodded. Jack hesitated for a moment before passing him the photograph in his hands. </p><p>“<em>Jack, I don’t need to see how pretty your dame is </em>…”</p><p>He started off with an eye roll, but his eyes were wide open when he trailed off. </p><p>The photograph Spot held was actually a strip of 3, the ones from a photo booth. It showed a younger Jack, fresh in his uniform, eyes shining bright. It was obvious those eyes had yet to see the war and the carnage it brought, but that wasn’t what surprised Spot. What surprised him was the person next to him. </p><p> </p><p>A man.</p><p> </p><p>Blond hair. Dazzling smile.</p><p> </p><p>Spot would bet a pack of cigarettes that his eyes were green too. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>His name’s Charlie</em>,” Jack said, snapping Spot out of his reverie. Jack’s voice had taken on a wistful tone, and he spoke the name like a prayer he kept close to his heart. His attention was focused solely on the photograph.</p><p>
  <em>“Corliss is just our version of Annie."</em>
</p><p>Each photo had the pair with their arms slung around each other, with a look of pure happiness on their face. Happiness Spot had never seen Jack that happy.</p><p> </p><p>The last photo was of the pair kissing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“We, uh, we’ve been going steady since we were 15. Started living together two years before the war, using the guise that we were two best friends who had to spread their wings somewhere. I was working two jobs to help put him through school, and we were happy. He was in college, studying to be a doctor. Charlie’s the brightest boy I know. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“But then I decided to enlist, and I made Charlie promise not to do anything until I got back. Told him he had to finish school and stay safe. We took these photos the day before I shipped off. We both knew a photo booth was the only way our picture could be taken safely.” </em>
</p><p>He laughed a bit, lost in memories of young love<em> .“ The bastard enlisted after I shipped away, using his medical experience to get himself in. Didn’t tell me either. Kept writing to me like nothing was wrong. Sent letters home that a friend would resend to me. For two years the asshole made me think he was home and safe and it wasn’t until his Ma sent me a letter that I found out that he got hurt in the Pacific.”</em></p><p>His smile was gone. </p><p>
  <em>“He’s home now, waiting for me, but… his leg got amputated.” </em>
</p><p>Spot looked down at ‘Charlie’, at this boy who looked like he could never harm a fly, and wondered how life could have dealt him such a hand. </p><p>“<em>He’s real handsome, Jack,”  </em>Spot said when he couldn’t think of anything else. “<em>How’d he end up falling for an ugly mug like yours?”</em></p><p>The joke had it’s desired effect, and Jack laughed. “<em>Shut up,” </em>He said, playfully shoving his shoulder and holding a hand out for his photos. Spot passed them over and laughed too.</p><p>“<em>So you’s and Charlie gon’ get married, huh?”</em></p><p>Jack snorted, the old joke of him and ‘Corliss’ getting hitched a recurring one. “<em>Oh yeah, Spot, with you and Antonio being our best men.”</em></p><p><em>“It’s going to happen, Jackie-boy.” </em>Spot said, and they both realized he was being serious. “<em>Someday.”</em></p><p>A small smile graced Jack’s face. “<em>Someday.”</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>A month later, and Spot still  couldn’t really believe it was over. The war was over.</p><p>It seemed so surreal that after 4 years of destruction, of devastation, of pain, it was all over.</p><p>The city of Paris seemed to be adjusting, but after four years of Nazi occupation it wasn’t easy. <a href="https://youtu.be/xVU-cMl7b_M?list=FLlDyHxJPhvZ3sSJ-Eebt1mw&amp;t=800">The citizens were on edge</a>, and so were the American soldiers who hadn’t left yet. Spot was one of them, because he wasn't ready to come home yet. Hailed as a hero, pampered and admired, thanked for playing his role in a slaughter. He couldn’t do that: not yet. Luckily for him, Jack and David were in the same boat. </p><p>The three friends had found a flat above a cafe they didn’t mind sharing, that the owner let them stay in rent-free, which caught Spot off-guard.</p><p>“<em>Wait, he’s not charging us anything?” </em> Spot had asked as he looked around the space. It was nice, <em> really </em>nice, which meant Spot was suspicious. No one would give such an easily rent-able place away for free. </p><p>“<em>Nothing,” </em> David confirmed. “<em>But we still gotta find a way to buy food.” </em></p><p><em> “That don’t make sense, Davey,” </em> Spot said, even though he really liked the flat. “<em>Why would anyone give us a place for free?” </em></p><p><em> “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” </em>Jack chided, already claiming the biggest room. </p><p>“<em>This seems wrong.”  </em></p><p>
  <em> “It isn’t, Spot.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “But why would he--” </em>
</p><p><em> “He felt bad, ok?” </em>David cut him off with a sharp look. Jack stilled, seemingly picking up on something, but Spot only titled his head in confusion. With a sigh, David reached into his shirt and pulled out his necklace, the thing he said that got him through the war.</p><p> </p><p>His Star of David.</p><p> </p><p>“<em><a href="https://youtu.be/xVU-cMl7b_M?list=FLlDyHxJPhvZ3sSJ-Eebt1mw&amp;t=490">Parisian guilt</a>,” </em>Davey snorted, but there was no humor in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>Spot felt stupid.</p><p> </p><p>One of the hardest days of Spot’s life had been just a few months before, when they had stumbled upon a camp that bore Nazi isignias but had no Nazi’s. They had busted down the gate and came face to face with the atrocities Germany was committing. America had heard that the Fuhrer didn’t approve of Jewish ways, but no one could imagine how far the man had gone</p><p>One of their soldiers spoke a bit of German and he was sent to the front to figure out what the hell was going on as the other men, without even being given the order, began distributing food and blankets. The soldier had hesitated in answering Spot about what that place was, and a sick feeling wormed it’s way into his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“'<em>It’s a camp for... ‘undesirables.’”  </em></p><p> </p><p>All the men were sickened, but it was David who felt the worst of it. He had been raised in a Jewish family of five. Never had Spot seen the man more distressed, speaking in a language he didn’t understand but knew it was prayer, shedding tears as he spoke to the men in the same language. </p><p> </p><p>He had thrown up the moment they left.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh.</em>” Spot had responded, flushing red for his absolute idiocy. </p><p>“<em>Yea,” </em> David replied simply, putting the star down. “<em>S</em><em>o: do I tell him yes?” </em></p><p> </p><p>The friends moved in that same day. </p><p> </p><p>The month in Paris was, ultimately, a good one. Spot spent most of his days walking along the streets of Paris, sometimes with Jack and Davey, sometimes alone. It gave him time to get back on his feet after his injury, but it also gave him time to think. </p><p>He’d come back to the cafe to eat with Jack and David, but sometimes he went down to the market and bought food to make dinner in the apartment. Over wine or coffee they’d eat and discuss their day and listen to music. It was a nice time: Jack made enough from selling paintings and David from playing the piano downstairs that they didn’t starve and had enough to buy new things for the flat. A new bed sheet, a curtain, a flower vase to brighten up the kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>But now they were sending Spot across the city like he was a fucking delivery boy.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I</em><em>’m gonna fucking kill them,” </em>Spot grumbled to himself as he climbed up the stairs, juggling 5 different bags from five different markets. David said he needed all of it for a ‘special dinner’ so he had set out at noon, and now it was damn near 6. Whatever David was cooking had better be fucking worth it.</p><p>He knocked on the front door, physically unable to open it himself, and marched in the second it opened. </p><p>“<em>A</em><em>lright, assholes,” </em> He said. “<em>What--” </em></p><p>The bags in his arms were dropped, the items in them sent tumbling to the floor, but he wasn’t even aware of it. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Hey there, Yankee-boy.” </em></p><p> </p><p>The soft cry was out of Spot’s mouth before he could think, and he was running forward with an open embrace.</p><p> </p><p>Antonio fit perfectly into his arms. </p><p> </p><p>The two men fell to their knees, clutching onto each other, his love sobbing into his shoulder. </p><p>“<em>You came back to me,” </em>Antonio said when he pulled back, and Spot smiled, wiping the tears away. </p><p>“<em>I told you I’d be seeing you.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>And he kissed him.</p><p> </p><p>Three years apart from each other was too long. Three years away from each other's presence. Three years without kisses, breakfast together, honeydew morning pecks, dancing together, the apartment smelling of coffee and pancakes at all times.</p><p>He had missed all of it, but when he was kissing Antonio....</p><p> </p><p>The years melted away.</p><p> </p><p>For all Spot cared, they could have stayed kissing on the floor for hours, but a cough broke the two apart. Startled, he turned to see a smirking Jack and a blushing David less than a metre away and felt his face turn bright red.</p><p>“<em>Well wasn’t that something, Davey </em> ,” Jack chuckled, arms crossed as he let out a low whistle. <em> “Thought Spot was about to take him right there on the floor.” </em></p><p>“<em>Shut up, Jac</em><em>k</em>,” David said, voice an entire octave higher than usual, turning even <em> redder </em>at Jack’s lack of filter.</p><p>“<em>Jack is exactly how you described him,” </em>Antonio whispered into his ear, and Spot snorted. </p><p>“<em>No, babydoll. He’s worse.” </em></p><p>The two laughed, and Spot helped his love to his feet.</p><p>“<em>I’m assuming you two had something to do with this.” </em>Spot directed at his friends, and David gave him a guilty smile.</p><p>“<em>Well, yeah!” </em> Jack cried out incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe Spot could be so thick. "<em>We couldn’t leave without him.” </em></p><p>Spot looked at his friends, at his love, and back at his friends. “<em>Leave?” </em></p><p>Jack opened his mouth again, but Antonio lifted a hand. Jack lifted his hands in defeat, ducking his head and smiling. </p><p>“<em>There’s,” </em> Antonio said, turning to him and grabbing a hold of both his hands. “<em>There’s a neighborhood, in New York, where it’s ok to be like us. Where people don’t care.” </em> Antonio had taken on an excited tone, a childish gleam in his eyes. “ <em> You, you said you wanted to show me Brooklyn, right? The bridge and-and the races? The Lodge where you lived when you were a newsboy?”  </em></p><p>Spot nodded, his mind catching up to what Antonio was saying and feeling his own excitement build up.</p><p>Antonio cupped his cheeks and gave him a soft kiss on the lips, Spot wrapping his hands around his love’s wrists. “<em> You can. We can go, next week. We can go to America and, and live together and--” </em></p><p>He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because he was cut off by Spot kissing him again, lifting him up in his own joy and the pair laughing together. </p><p>“<em>Baby, we can set off to America </em> tomorrow <em> for all I care,” </em>Spot said, the most earnest thing he’d said in a while. </p><p><em> “Well, maybe not tomorrow,” </em> David cut in, and Spot felt bad for forgetting he was there. “<em>The four of us leave next Monday. We got until then.” </em></p><p>They hadn’t told him. Such a life changing decision and no one had let him know.</p><p> </p><p>But he was too happy to care</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Monday,” </em> He repeated, nodding. “ <em> I can work with that.” </em></p><p>As his hands landed on Antonio’s hips, his mind began to wonder, and he didn’t even look at his roommates as he said, “<em> You fellas might wanna sleep somewhere else tonight. You won’t wanna hear us.” </em></p><p>“<em>Say no less!” </em>Jack laughed, who nudged David towards the door. </p><p><em> "Hey Davey </em> ," Spot added as an afterthought, and the gentle giant turned to him. <em> "I think now's a good time to tell you. I'm queer." </em></p><p>His friend gave a short bark of laughter, scratching the back of his neck. "<em>Yeah, I uh, think I got that Sean."  </em></p><p>The two friends made their way out, and Spot vaguely heard Jack suggest his favorite bar before the door closed and he descended upon Antonio, walking the both of them to his bedroom.</p><p>The two collapsed onto his bed sometime well after 3 in the morning, trying to regain their breath as their hands intertwined. The rest of the night was spent just relishing in the fact that the other was there, and the  sun was peeking over the horizon when both men finally fell asleep.</p><p>It was noon when the two woke up and over a quiet brunch of eggs and toast, Antonio said in that romantic tone he sometimes got that it had always been a dream of his to visit Paris. Spot vowed that their week left in Paris would be the best of their lives, and looking back, they’d both agree that it was.</p><p> </p><p>The summer air was soft and warm as they were strolling down the Elysee, <a href="https://youtu.be/CyUZe8xRNnQ?t=9">walking along the Seine</a>, sitting in the grass next to the Eiffel Tower with a drink in hand from whichever cafe they visited. More often than not, Jack and David joined them, and the couple had no idea that the artist was constantly sketching them. He’d give them those drawings many many years later.</p><p>Antonio and Jack got on like wildfire, much to Davey and Spot’s dismay, so it soon became the norm to chase after their respective designated dumbass to prevent them from getting the group banned from France as a whole. It helped them that Antonio was fluent in French, a fact that he omitted until ordering dinner their first night out and one that shocked Spot more than he was willing to admit. (And if Antonio refused to speak anything but French that night under the sheets, just to see him flustered, that was between him and Spot.)</p><p>The thing that Antonio loved the most though, more than the architecture and the music and the food, were the races. </p><p>The way his eyes lit up when he saw the horses, the way he jumped up and down like a child when his bets paid off, the way he got so excited he spoke in a rapid jumble of English, French, and Italian, it wasn’t long before Jack dubbed him “Racetrack” which became simplified to “Race.”</p><p>It was a good name, and he donned it well.</p><p>All too soon, though, it was Sunday and the four men had their items packed and were getting ready to leave. Though they were all happy to go, Davey and Jack ready to see loved ones and Spot and Race ready to start their life together, there was a heavy tension in the air. After Paris, New York seemed an entirely different world.</p><p>That night, as they got ready for bed, Spot told him he had something for him. At Race’s look of confusion, he reached into the nightstand and grabbed the book that lied inside, sitting on the bed and gesturing for Race to do the same.</p><p>“<em>I, uh,” </em> He said, a fine blush covering his face. “ <em> I wasn’t sure when to give you this, but now just seems right.” </em></p><p>Race took the journal with a small yet hesitant smile, and let out a soft gasp. </p><p>“<em>Spotty…” </em></p><p>Spot had spent so much time writing and drawing in the journal, he memorized every inch of it, including the dedication on the first page:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> For the one who has my heart, soul, and mind. I pray I can give this to you myself one day. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ll be seeing you - Spot. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Under it was a small drawing that he looked at when he needed a reason to get up in the morning. A sketch of the first time he had ever seen him, that fateful night in the bar, Race looking back at him from his seat at the table. It was done completely in graphite, with only one part being done with a blue drawing pencil.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What is this?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>I couldn’t write to you the way I really wanted you to, so I started keeping this. L-Letters I never got to send, drawings of what I saw, just... everything." </em></p><p> </p><p>Spot watched as he carefully flipped through the pages, a look of pain or fear or amusement occasionally marking his face. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"You did all this for me?"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Spot nodded, and Race reached out to grab his hand, interlocking their fingers with ease. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Spotty, these… these are dated a month after I first wrote to you.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Two months before they said I love you.</p><p> </p><p>A fine blush settled on his cheeks, but he responded earnestly. “<em>Babydoll, I was already gone for you</em>.”</p><p>Racer smiled, raising his hand and placing a kiss on Spot’s knuckles. “<em>How lucky I am to have found love with you, Sean Conlon</em>.”</p><p>Spot couldn’t help a slight chuckle, cheeks now fully burning.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You’s only saying that because you want to see America</em>.” He joked.</p><p><em>“That is only part of the reason I’m sweet on you, excuse you.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Race leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spot’s, the journal being put back on the nightstand as the two made their way under the covers together.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Sergeant Sean Conlon hadn’t known what it was about the man across the bar that caught his attention, but now as he lied next to him, watching the moonlight grace his features perfectly, he was glad he had. Racetrack Higgins was an extraordinary man, a kind one, a man that he couldn't help but love. Even in his sleep, he shifted closer to Spot, seeking him out and Spot smiled. He didn't know what the future, what would happen once they reached New York, but he know he wanted Racer by his side through it all.</p><p> </p><p>There was no one he would rather go home with.</p><p> </p><p>And no one he’d rather spend his life with. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This idea really came to me after I watched The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society about a month ago (which if you know me, is a VERY short period of time for me to finish a WIP 😂) and I just ran with it.</p><p>In the end, I ended up taking inspiration from:</p><p>Guernsey - The idea of a World War 2 story in general</p><p>Mamma Mia/ABBA - The activities in Paris Harry and Donna did in Our Last Summer</p><p>An American in Paris - The idea of American soldiers staying in Paris (wow, shocker), and living above a cafe rent free bc of "Parisian guilt"  Also the scene where it shows the light going out in the bar and the citizens drop to the floor immediately, thinking it's a raid once again. It was important, I believe, to show that even though the war and the occupation was over, the city is still healing and healing takes time</p><p>Wonder Woman - Charlie singing and playing the piano at the bar</p><p>The Notebook - Honestly it was just bc of how fucking good James Marsden looks in a uniform and how cute he looks dancing with Rachel McAdams for .5 seconds lol</p><p>The 1945 Shirley Temple movie Kiss and Tell - The name Corliss. I didn't like any "C" female names for Charlie until I watched this and thought "Corliss is absolutely perfect"</p><p>The 1944 movie I'll Be Seeing You - Helping me realize the vernacular of 1940's soldiers (ironically enough I forgot that's what the film was called until after I was nearly done with this story)</p><p>Band of Brothers - The Liberation of the Concentration camp. Watching that scene as a child made me fully understand what occured in the Holocaust. It's a heart-wrenching scene, which is why it is the only scene I didn't link. I do say that if you haven't seen it, to search for it on YouTube. It's incredible.</p><p>and a museum exhibit that held actual love letters from World War Two.</p><p>This was a melting pot of ideas and I hope that I made it readable and likable. Please leave me some comments if you enjoyed this ❤︎ Who knows, I might be persuaded to write a sequel ;)) </p><p>Thank you for reading! Until next time!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>